He's not a conditioning risk, like Tony Gwynn. He's not a conduct problem, like Phil Nevin. Hoffman is as virtuous as the Boy Scout oath, as dependable as a doorknob, and perhaps only one season short of baseball's career saves record.

He gives the Padres no grounds to let him go except greenbacks.

"When you have a guy who has had the kind of special accomplishments that he has had – with his makeup and all the intangibles and what he means to this organization – it makes for a very difficult negotiation," Padres General Manager Kevin Towers said.

Sentiment says the Padres should sign Hoffman to ensure that Trevor Time remains a distinctly San Diego phenomenon. Reason argues that the pitcher's price tag makes this problematical.

JIM BAIRD / Union-Tribune

Tough as it may be to take, Trevor Hoffman's celebrations in 2006 may be done for another team.

Deadlines dictate that the Padres close a deal with their iconic closer by Friday or face the unfettered fury of open bidding on the free-agent market.

Frankly, the outlook is ominous. Though the Padres hired his brother, Glenn, to coach third base, Hoffman has already cleaned out his locker at Petco Park and has said he feels "betrayed" by the club's two-year, $10 million offer.

Since the Padres have paid Hoffman more than $47 million during the past decade – including a $9.6 million salary when shoulder surgery limited him to nine innings of work in 2003 – "betrayed" seems a bit theatrical. Yet even if that remark is dismissed as bargaining blather, Padres Chief Executive Officer Sandy Alderson concedes the negotiating gap with No. 51 is "significant."

Hoffman is looking for one more year and at least 15 more millions than the Padres have proposed. Consequently, one Padres board member volunteered last week that he had adjusted his Hoffman Stays odds from 80-20 to 60-40. With the New York Mets expected to trigger a run on short relievers in their ardent pursuit of Philadelphia's Billy Wagner, the Hoffman gap could quickly grow beyond the Padres' desire to bridge it.

This is troubling and yet typical, consistent with the inherent dilemma of modern baseball decision-making. Though Trevor Hoffman means more to the Padres than he could to any other club, his potential "value" is probably greater to a team with more unrealized revenue potential and fewer missing pieces.

Depending on Wagner's ultimate whereabouts, Hoffman's suitors could include the Mets, the Phillies and the Arizona Diamondbacks. Late last season, a Diamondbacks executive outlined an aggressive recruiting pitch that would include a pointed rendition of Hoffman's theme song: AC/DC's "Hells Bells."

Competition is one concern for the Home Team. Composition is another. If the Padres are unable or unwilling to compete for Brian Giles and Ramon Hernandez – key regulars already on their roster – paying an elite closer would look like an extravagance. Like hiring Springsteen to work a sock hop.

Moreover, if the Padres are destined to revert to doormats, Hoffman (436 career saves) has to ask himself how long it will take him to surpass Lee Smith's record of 478. Along those same lines, how long could Hoffman expect to hold the title before it belongs to the New York Yankees' Mariano Rivera (379 saves)?

Politically, the pressure is on the Padres. The perception among many fans and some club executives is that owner John Moores is more interested in proving points than winning pennants – in restoring sanity to baseball's salary structure at the expense of his own customers. Letting Hoffman leave would only exacerbate the exasperation of those who believe Petco Park was sold on a bait-and-switch program.

Pragmatically, however, Trevor Hoffman is 38 years old. Among baseball's top 20 career saves leaders, only Dennis Eckersley and Doug Jones saved at least 30 games after the year in which they turned 38.

(Hoyt Wilhelm, the first reliever to reach baseball's Hall of Fame, was another exception to baseball's bullpen law of diminishing returns, recording most of his 227 saves after age 40. His knuckleball, evidently, was impervious to time.)

"Sometimes, your more difficult negotiations are with an aging superstar," Towers said. "We went through it with Tony (Gwynn). You start getting to an area where you start trying to weigh risk and performance."

Assessing Alderson's influence on those calculations is tricky. As the spiritual father of baseball's statistics-driven "Moneyball" philosophy, Alderson tends to be lumped with those who consider closers an overrated commodity. Yet Alderson's specific experience with Eckersley in Oakland and his general resistance to being pigeonholed suggest some flexibility on this front.

"I have a lot of appreciation for Trevor, and it goes beyond his performance on the field," Alderson said. "It has to do, for want of a better term, with entertainment value. People come to the ballpark for Trevor Time.

"The other day, somebody asked me who was my favorite player to watch and I said, 'Trevor.' Why? Because he means we're three outs from winning the game."

In the ninth inning, peace of mind can be priceless. Trevor Hoffman is the guy who makes the other team worry.